


At the Altar

by dilsdoes



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Aziraphale Has Self-Esteem Issues (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Worship Kink, Body Worship, Crowley Has a Praise Kink (Good Omens), Enjoy!, M/M, Porn With Plot, Praise Kink, Smut, aziraphale is used to serving, must i do EVERYTHING myself., uhh im bad at tags, where is the content of him being unused to being served??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:02:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26887822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dilsdoes/pseuds/dilsdoes
Summary: What use is a servant who's never asked to serve?aka the worship kink aziraphale fic i said i was going to write at a later date.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 126





	At the Altar

**Author's Note:**

> me writing this: boy i sure hope this doesnt awaken anything in me.

Aziraphale knew Crowley loved him in theory. There was no way to deny it, or worm his way out of it. And of course, he loved Crowley. He would give him anything if he asked, do anything, _be_ anything, but- well. That was the problem, wasn’t it? Crowley didn’t ask for anything. He never asked him to lift a finger, never needed anything from him and never wanted from him. It made him uncomfortable. Love was a give and take, and Aziraphale was taking, and taking, and even asking for more, but Crowley never wanted him to give. So Aziraphale knew Crowley loved him in theory. But he wasn’t sure he believed it.

He took his eyes off the page he’d been trying and failing to read, and pondered. He glanced down at the entity in question, laying on his head on his lap doing goodness knows what on his cellular phone while Aziraphale carded his fingers through his hair, and surely, _surely_ there was something he wanted.

“Crowley?”

“Mm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Just did.” Aziraphale could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Really,” He stilled the hand going through his hair. “It’s important.”

“Alright. Go on then.”

“What-” He stopped, and breathed, and started again. “What do you… gain?”

Crowley stared blankly. “From… what exactly?”

“From this,” He gestured to them. “From me. What do you get?”

Worry creased onto his face. “Angel, you don’t owe me-”

“I _know!_ I-” He sighed. “I know that, but what… what do you like?”

He was met with confusion. “You, Angel.”

“Yes, but what do you get?”

More confusion. “Aziraphale, I get you.”

“But-” He sighed, frustrated. “Nevermind.” He went back to his book.

* * *

Aziraphale was alone in the flat. This wasn’t a common occurrence, but Crowley left to get up to some minor temptations (‘Such a nice day. It be a waste not to spoil it.’) and Aziraphale, unusually, decided not to join him. And so, he was alone in the flat, sitting on their bed, very naked, very nervous, and very much trying to avoid the gaze of the mirror. He wanted to do something nice for Crowley. He wanted to do _something_ for Crowley. _How should I be found?_ It seemed like such a silly concern, but he was flying blind, in a sense. He tried a different position. _What would he want?_ He thought, and thought, and he came up without any ideas. He shifted again. _Why…_ He caught sight of his reflection, and saw himself, sitting on his legs, naked and afraid. He saw himself, plain as paper, plain as glass, plain as anything he could imagine. He saw himself, and in an instant, he deflated. _Why should I even bother?_

The knob turned. “Angel, I got you some-” Crowley stopped, mouth agape.

They stared at each other for a moment. Aziraphale dropped his gaze. “I- I’m-”

“Beautiful.”

“What?” He looked up, and he saw-

“You’re beautiful.” Adoration, devotion, desire, delight. An unquenchable thirst, a burning need, an unending hunger. All for him.

“Crowley-”

“What do you need?” He shed his jacket.

“No- Crowley, I-”

“Really,” He tugged off his tie. “‘M happy to oblige.” He made his way over. “Anything you-”

“Stop!” He pulled back, like he’d been burned. “Stop, _please-_ Just-”

Crowley took a step back. “I- sorry. I… I just thought-”

Aziraphale took a shaky breath. “What do you want?”

He blinked. “You.”

“But what do you want _from_ me?” He was desperate.

“Just you.”

“I-” He breathed again. “You give me everything I want. Anything I could ask for. What-” He swallowed thickly. “What can I give you? What _do_ I give you?”

Crowley’s eyes softened. “You. You give me you.” He took off his glasses, and with a voice dripping with affection, he said reverently, “I love you.” His eyes shone like molten gold, and in them glowed a love so deep and wide and vast it could never be said, not really.

“But what about me?” He needed to know. “What do you love?” And he watched with rapt attention as Crowley brought himself closer to his level.

“Your eyes,” he breathed, as he kissed his eyelids. “Outshine the sun. Your breath-” a kiss to his throat. “-gives me cause to keep mine. Your hands-” He held them, and kissed them dearly. “Hold me like I’m the world.” Lower still he bent, trailing his hands along Aziraphale’s sides, sending a shiver down his spine. “Your body…” He said, planting a kiss on his stomach. “Oh Angel… it makesss me hungry.” Down, down, down he went, leaving kisses in his wake, kneeling in front of him, kneeling for him, kneeling at him and looking up with rapturous attention. “You’re everything.” Another one, a bit lower. “More than that- you’re you.” Another, lower still. “And I-” He stopped, breath caught and hot above his quickly hardening dick. “I’m not worthy of your love…”

Aziraphale’s breath hitched. “Do you think I’d make a mistake, my dear?”

“No,” he breathed, dedication in his eyes. “Never.”

“Then believe my love for you,” He said, and set his hand upon his head and guided him to bow.

And Crowley took him in his mouth, like communion, like bread and wine, like blood and body. No sin could taste as sweet as his Angel pressed against his tongue, and even Heaven’s light couldn’t burn as bright as the feeling of him against his throat. Up and down, up and down, the motion itself a form of prayer, and Aziraphale could feel the love in the languid curl of his tongue, in the rhythmic bob of his head, and in each hot, deliberate breath. He gripped his hair, and pulled him off and met his worried, desperate eyes and felt the fear in him. Of how much he loved him. Of how much he was loved.

“Did I-?”

He shook his head. “No- No, you were perfect- _Are_ perfect.”

“Then-”

Aziraphale whined. “Inside.” And that was all that needed to be said. 

In a moment, he guided him onto his slicked up dick, and watched as his Angel rode him, as he used him, as he was used by him, as he panted and puffed and he just couldn’t tear his eyes away. Aziraphale draped his arms over his shoulders, and he clung onto him for dear life as he bounced.

“Angel- _fuck._ ” His breath caught. He’d looked up, and he’d seen Heaven looking back. He tried to snake an arm between them, but Aziraphale batted it away.

“You-” He inhaled sharply. “You’re already doing so- _ah_ \- well.” He screwed his eyes shut, sweat on his brow, moving faster and faster, and it was all Crowley could do not to come undone before he was done being used.

“Ngk… G-Gorgeous…” He choked out, and Aziraphale’s toes curled, his head threw back, he gasped in pure ecstasy, and came, and what better mark of a job well done than that? Crowley followed soon after. 

Aziraphale eased off of him, and melted into him, and said, barely a whisper, “Thank you.”

And so, it was good- Thus saith his Angel.

**Author's Note:**

> man i got work to do and instead i'm here being horny. disgostening. anyway, kudos and comment if you really liked it, i read all of them and appreciate them deeply.


End file.
